


The Break-In

by MoonlightShines (Thatkillervibe)



Series: "This is Home"- Killervibe Tumblr Prompts [6]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Baking, Cookies, F/M, Fluff, Pancakes, Poor thing, Squint and you'll see angst, Stress Baking, again!, and why does Cisco have to go talk in codes smh, i guess, late night, they cute like that and like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 12:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18739456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkillervibe/pseuds/MoonlightShines
Summary: Caitlin wakes up to a loud noise and a lot of swearing.





	The Break-In

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so I just wanna thank @Staroflightning on tumblr for asking for this prompt!

 

 

Caitlin wakes up to a loud noise and a lot of swearing.

Her eyes blink open, encrusted with sleep, staring up at the ceiling and she lets out a sigh so deep she feels it in her soul. She rubs her hand over the pillow creases against her cheek, muttering under her breath as she pulls her fluffy bathrobe from its hook off her en suite bathroom door. She slips it on, swinging it over her shoulders, and squirming her arms in one by one then pauses to take another deep breath and force herself not to face-plant standing up against the wall.

The lights from the kitchen were on the lowest setting, an attempt at accommodation, Caitlin supposed, and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she jammed her feet into her slippers waiting for her at the door. She followed the trail of light like a moth, and it lead her straight to the cluttered kitchen mess and the intruder who broke into her apartment and robbed her sleep.

Caitlin shuffles over to her island and climbs up on the barstool. Her blue slippers almost fell right off her feet, teetering from her toes for a couple seconds until they landed on her mopped floor.

“Damn thing won’t shut up! Dumb crybaby oven,” Cisco complains in his green apron, running to turn off the incessant timer, jabbing buttons and playing around with the temperature setting with one hand, keeping a half cup of baking powder steady in the other.

He shoos her away with it, spilling it over the rim of the measuring tool. A puff of white powder flies in the air. “Didn’t mean to wake you up. Sorry.”

Caitlin’s eyes blearily take in the scene. The cookie trays and the lump of something in her oven. The big bowls and spatulas. Some mix dripping down her white counters and a bag of flour slumped awkwardly to one side like someone took a punch to its gut. Again.

Caitlin groans, and buries her head into her arms against the island surface. She’s going to turn him into a frickin’ popsicle if he doesn’t clean his mess.

“Do you think it’s rising? I don’t think it is. Shit.”

“Cisco,” she grumbles into her elbow,  her voice muffled.

“I mean the yeast expired last month but I didn’t think it mattered that much–”  

Caitlin lifts her head up, heavy like a bowling ball, and props it up with her hand, watching him buzz around like a bumble bee.

“Pass me a cookie,” she resigns.

“I guess I’ll try it again,” he sighs, and gives her a chocolate chip.

It’s warm and gooey and exactly not what Caitlin should be eating at two AM, but he’s getting the milk out her fridge and is pushing the tall glass to her silently. Cisco hooks his foot around the bar of the second stool and hops up to sit at her opposite.

“Good?”

He’s truly endearing, in a weird kind of smiley, manic, sleep deprived way.

This random late night breaching into her home to use her kitchen was starting to become a bad habit. Maybe.

Caitlin chews slowly, still tasting the toothpaste she brushed with before she put herself to bed.

“Bittersweet chocolate?”

But there are worse habits out there.

Cisco nods and so does she, assenting to his choice. “You know you have your own oven, right?”

She dips her hot cookie into the glass and it falls to pieces. She waits for his reply.

Cisco watches her fish the cookie parts out with her slippery fingers.

“Yeah, but yours has the fancy convection settings.”

“Uh huh,” Caitlin says. “So buy one of those then,” she suggests lightly, not really meaning it.

Cisco hums noncommittally.

She narrows her eyes, and jerks her head in the direction of it. “What kind of bread?”

“Neolithic if it won’t rise,” Cisco bemoans. He runs his hands through his hair, streaking it with flour. “Don’t even remember if it does.”

Caitlin doesn’t comment on it, simply pushes herself off the stool, and pads to the oven, licking the chocolate off her fingers. She bends down in front of the little lit up window and peers in, deciding to open the door. A wave of heat attacks her face.

“Did you add enough water?”

Cisco’s laugh sounded like a strangle. “Maybe?”

Well, they’ll find out in 2 more hours.

Cisco reaches over to pull off the long tie of Caitlin’s fluffy bathrobe from where it was dragging behind her on the linoleum.

Caitlin whips around to see him bunching the material in his hands, putting it aside.

She’s about to thank him when she pauses, her words dying on her lips. His eyes have gone soft and shiny. A really beautiful, tender light with a warmth Caitlin has come to realize are just for her. Her heart swells with a quiet, sleepy joy.

She looks at him really, and the fuzz around her brain dissipates as something clicks into place. “Cisco? I don’t know if you can just breach into my house at night to make food anymore.”

Cisco’s half tired, half sated smile freezes. His hands clench his apron rhythmically, eyebrows pulling together as he begins to frown at himself.

“Oh,” he says.

“It’s just,” Caitlin wrings her hands, and takes a step forward. “It’s just, I think I want you to think about what you’re doing.”

His hair falls over his face, and he pulls the apron off completely, shoving the cookie tray to the side, and avoiding her eyes. “Oh,” he says again.

“I’m sleeping in my room and you’re over here alone making,” Caitlin pauses, looking around the room, at a loss for words to describe this. “ _Everything._ Tonight it was cookies but last week it was a stuffed chicken, like _honestly_ , Cisco, this early in the morning you’re bound to screw up and set everything on fire.”

Cisco eyeballs her as she rummages through her utensils for a clean bowl and spatula and thrusts them into his arms. “It’s my apartment. So it’s my rules. You want to use my kitchen? Fine.”

She yanks her cookbook out from its spot on her shelf.

“You want to do it at an ungodly hour after one of us nearly dies? Sure, Cisco. You do you.”

The pages skip as she skims through it, but she doesn’t find it fast enough so she searches up the index like she’s about to cite her sources.

“But,” she continues, looking up at him sharply, “then you need me to help you. You’re not allowed to use my oven anymore and just let me sleep through it. You clearly need an assistant.”

She smiles and gestures to the abandoned baking powder and lonely mixer.  “So you were wanting to make pancakes?”

Cisco blinks, staring down at the bowl in his hands dumbly. _“Oh.”_

Caitlin flicks on the kitchen light to the brightest setting and starts to make coffee.

By the time the batter is thickened, Cisco reaches forward to turn the heat up on the stove for Caitlin to pour some in with her ladle spoon.

They worked in silence, baking together. Caitlin simply putting a hand on his arm to get his attention to put the egg carton back in the fridge. He relaxes under her touch, his coiled up freneticism releasing with his exhale as she rubs her hand over his skin.

By the time the third pancake is flipped over in its golden brown glory, Cisco slows, working his jaw open.

He’s using Mr. Clean from her cabinet under the sink, wiping up the aftermath of his Hell’s Kitchen audition.

“I don’t like my oven,” Cisco says quietly. “I mean, it’s fine. It does the trick.”

Caitlin uses the spatula to guide the pancake onto the stack steaming on the plate, arching an encouraging eyebrow, letting him go on.

“But I love your oven. I need it to make the best things. I wouldn’t be half as good without it.” He chances a glance, vulnerable. “I know I should just stay at home. I know, it’s better off, that way. But I can’t tear myself away. I need to be here.”

The scent between them is strong with disinfectant.

Caitlin reaches for his wet hand, removing the sponge from his grasp. “My oven will always be there for you to use, Cisco.”

His look is imploring and he melts, squeezing her hand back. The brown eyes he has are doing that thing again, warm and gooey like his chocolate cookies. But then he huffs, rolling his eyes like he’s embarrassed or doubtful. “Say that again next Thanksgiving.”

“Even then,” she promises. She’s not about to let this go. “Every time you need it. Always.” 

He draws in a short breath, and allows himself to look at her face again, his protective poise disintegrating completely. “It’s the best thing in my life, Caitlin.”

She flicks the heat off, and removes the pan from the burner. The pile of pancakes and eager vanilla-smelling batter sit waiting on the side for them to return to after.

He lets her pull him close.


End file.
